Three nights later, while members of the squadron were engaged in the usual after mess gab fest, an orderly entered with a summons for McGee and Larkin to report to Major Cowan. Larkin had just that day secured a misfitting regulation issue uniform from the Supply Officer, Robinson, and the group had been having a great deal of fun at his expense. Yancey now saw another chance.
“Old Fuss Budget is goin’ to have you shot for impersonatin’ an officer in that scarecrow riggin’,” he taunted. “You should have kept your old uniform on, like McGee.”
“Huh! Robinson didn’t have one small enough for McGee,” Larkin retorted. “They only have men’s sizes in the American Army. What’s wrong with this uniform?”
“Uniform?” Yancey repeated. “Oh, I thought it was a horse blanket.”
Larkin thumbed his nose at Yancey as he passed through the door with McGee. He knew the Major 158would have a long wait if he stayed to get ahead of Yancey.
Major Cowan appeared to be in an unusually happy frame of mind.
“I’ve good news for you,” he announced as they entered the headquarters hut. “In losing Carpenter, McWilliams and Rodd, we have gained you two. And instead of the bawling out I expected, I was congratulated for unusual foresight. The order assigning you to this squadron will be down to-morrow. I hope you are as well pleased as I am.”
“Of course we are,” McGee answered for both. “We wouldn’t feel so much at home anywhere else. I’m sorry, of course, to come as a replacement for any one of those other chaps. They were fine fellows.”
“Of course,” Cowan responded, heartily. “Their loss demonstrates the value of experience. There was no reason at all for the collision between Carpenter and McWilliams. They simply forgot there was anyone else in the air. A tough break.”
“Any break is a tough one when you don’t come back,” Larkin said.